Quidditch League Short Stories
by Kage Kitsune
Summary: A series of Short stories for the Qudditch League competition. Each chapter contains a story from a different round. ALL STORIES ARE AU UNLESS STATED OTHERWISE rated M only for some stories containing slash coupling.
1. Give it a Chance

**Practice Round**

(If this seems dumb, I'm going to rewrite it from Remus view)

Written for QLFC: Season 5, Practice round

Position: Chaser 2

Position Prompt: Song: I think we're alone, "I think we're alone now"

Optional Prompts:

Parkin's Pincer — _two Chasers trap an opposing Chaser, while the third Chaser commits blatching**_. Write about breaking the rules

(colour) Steel Blue

(colour) Crimson

(Word) Bitter

Word count: 2574

Warning: Shonen ai. Sirius/Remus

Betas: The wonderful Rose and Aelys!

Title: Give it a chance

Remus had been so stressed lately. What with: upcoming O.W.L.s, and the threat of a full moon arriving before the exams started. He barely even spoke anymore; instead he buried himself in his books trying to prepare.

Sirius had been preparing too, but not for a test.

He couldn't hold back the laugh that escaped his lips despite his best attempts to remain quiet. Surely his success warranted him a small slip? He held the long, skinny glass steel blue bottle filled with red liquid, his smile growing. This wonderful tasting liquid was the key to getting Remus on side. Sirius had the entire thing planned out, he walked up to Gryffindor tower confidently, still grinning.

Most of his Housemates would be asleep if all had gone according to plan. James and Sirius had spiked a few cases of Butterbeer with small amounts of calming draught. A mild sleeping potion they had made personally and passed around for this very mission. Sirius was glad James had managed to keep his mouth shut; if Lily had found out she would have ratted Sirius out and his plan would have fallen apart.

Sirius slipped the precious bottle into his robes as he arrived at the Fat Lady.

"Bellowing dragon bottoms," he said to the portrait. She yawned and the portrait door swung forward to reveal a deserted and dark common room, the only light came from the fireplace. It was even better than he could've hoped. He went to the couch nearest the fire, forcing himself not to skip or dance, which was hard given his current state of mind. He would never forgive himself if Remus caught him skipping. He was trying for a calm, collected look. Sirius needed to show Remus that he was reliable, that he could take care of him.

"Why do you always wait until the last minute to do your homework?"

Sirius turned: Remus was coming towards him from the dorm staircase, and he looked ready to beat him with the books in his hand. Sirius couldn't help but wince; in the harsh contrast of light and shadow cast by the fire, Remus appeared paler than ever. The stressed werewolf's eyes were narrowed and ringed with almost black circles.

Remus chucked the books he was holding onto the couch where Sirius sat, and folded his arms. He gave Sirius a complete once-over.

"Where are your books? I'm _not_ doing your homework for you," he said, his jaw set. Sirius was surprised to find he was intimidated by Remus, there was even a part of him that was tempted to bolt, to abandon this plan altogether, but Remus was _so_ unwell. He had to do something to try and make him feel better. Not to mention there was a selfish part of Sirius that was sick of hiding his feelings from Remus, his _friend_.

"Come here." Sirius waved towards the couch.

Remus' expression somehow darkened. "I don't have time for this, I need to look over some ancient runes-"

"Just give me a few minutes," Sirius said. "Then you can ignore me for the rest of the evening."

Remus let out a long, loud sigh and trudged around the couch. He plopped down beside Sirius and fixed him with a look. Everything in his posture expressed his demand to know what was going on. There was an unspoken promise of a slow death for Sirius if he couldn't meet Remus' standard of dire need. Sirius hated to see Remus pushed to this attitude. This particular level of exasperation was reserved for Sirius alone, Sirius had never seen Remus behave this way toward anyone else. Not even when James' pissed him off.

"Explain or I'm leaving."

Sirius wasted no time in pulling out the wine bottle from his robe. A wave of his wand hand two wine glasses appearing on the couch, a spell he'd perfected months ago.  
Remus' mouth fell open. "You...where did you get that?"

"The kitchen," Sirius replied, tipping his head back and reading the label with a haughty expressions. "It's an excellent year."

"We're underage," Remus said, refusing to play along.

"Then Dumbledore shouldn't keep it in the kitchen where I can get to it." He handed Remus the two glasses and popped the top off the dark bottle. He poured some of the crimson liquid into glasses and set the bottle down onto the floor before taking one of the glasses from Remus. "You need to relax before you collapse."

"Dumbledore will throw you out!" Remus said. His eyes kept darting from the bottle on the floor to the wine glass in Sirius' hand. He seemed to have forgotten he was holding one himself. Sirius took a swig of the drink, and closed his eyes. He felt better already. A pleasant taste of cherry balanced against oat flooded his mouth. He swallowed the rest in a cursory gulp.

"This is good, I was worried it might turn out to be bitter." Sometimes choosing wine from Dumbledore's collection was a guessing game when it came to quality and taste. He definitely preferred Firewhisky, but he knew Remus wouldn't touch the stuff. Opening his eyes he saw Remus' expressions of abject disdain had returned.

"Is this supposed to be relaxing? You realize you're just adding to my stress, right?" Remus asked. He put his wine glass down on the floor and snatched Sirius' empty one from his hand. "And you don't drink wine that way!" Remus didn't seem to know what to do with the empty wine glass once he'd taken it away from Sirius. He held it pointlessly between them..

"You're an expert, are you? What happened to: _We're underage?_ " Sirius challenged. Remus' face flushed red and he looked away. It was good to see him look a little less pale, even for a moment.

"Come on,"Sirius pressed. "If we don't finish this Pinot Noir there's going to be evidence and then we really will get into trouble."

"No, _you'll_ get in trouble," Remus said, standing up. Sirius was up automatically and grabbed his elbow.

"Hold on-"

"You are not helping!"

"Alright, no wine," Sirius said. He took the glass from Remus gently and placed it on the floor. Sirius' grip on Remus slipped down to the boy's wrist. "I'm sure the calming draught James and I made for tonight isn't all gone."

Remus' left eye and mouth twitched in unison, and he pulled himself free. "I really don't have time for this. We only have a month before O.W.L.S. start, and my problem will affect me soon before that. I won't be able to focus much during that time."

Sirius nodded. "I know. Believe me, I know, but if you keep this up you won't be studying at all, you'll be at the infirmary." This must've been the right thing to say, because Remus deflated with another sigh. The exhausted boy lowered himself slowly back onto the couch. He must have known on some level that Sirius was correct. Sirius noticed Remus' hand were shaking. He joined him on the couch. "While it's just us talking: do you remember what I told you in March? And you told me to wait for an answer? I know you like to take your time, but I hate seeing you like this. I just feel I could help you more if…" Sirius reached for Remus's arm again. "I love you more than I can handle."

Remus snorted pulling his hand away from Sirius' grasp. Sirius frowned, hurt at yet another rejection from Remus. Or had it been a rejection? Remus hadn't exactly told him no and he'd allowed Sirius to use his lap as a pillow a few times since he'd confessed his feelings. But that was nothing like what he'd wanted. He wanted Remus to admit that there was more between them.

"You are so corny," Remus said. He snatched the wine glass from off the floor and emptied its contents in a single movement.

Sirius raised an eyebrow, his grin returning. "I mean it."

"I know. That's what makes it worse." Remus took the bottle and poured himself another glass. "This _is_ pretty good."

"Dumbledore has good taste." Sirius watched the liquid in his glass, wondering how much wine Remus would need to open up. He probably should have grabbed more than one bottle. "I had every intention of getting that answer out of you tonight. I thought maybe you'd feel better with one less thing to think about, but I can wait." Sirius focussed his eyes on the firelight. Admitting defeat wasn't exactly easy for him, but seeing Remus willingly drink in the common room felt like a sign that it might not be the best time to confront him.

"Sirius, I don't know if I love you."

Sirius finished his glass of wine and dropped it onto the floor. The words had not been what he'd been hoping for. There he was trying to make Remus feel better, and in return Sirius felt like he was being stabbed.

"Fair enough," he managed, after he'd wrestled to gain some control over his emotions.

"I knew how you felt long before you told me." Sirius shifted his gaze from the fire to Remus. He'd known? He'd known and still allowed Sirius to make a fool out of himself by confessing his feelings? He'd known and probably knew he didn't feel the same way, but had led Sirius on anyway? Something in his expression must've shown his horror, because Remus looked down at his hands. "I'm sorry Sirius. You're the only person to ever show any interest. I don't know how to respond."

"You say: 'I love you too', and I: take you out on a date?"

"You make it sound so simple."

"It _is_ simple," Sirius said. He could hardly believe Remus was so dense on the matter, or perhaps he wasn't? Hardly noticeable - except to Sirius who spent a good deal of time staring at Remus - was the tiniest hint of a smile. He could feel his own eyes narrowing this time as he took in his friend's entire form. "You're messing with me."

"James warned me before I came down," Remus admitted. He started to laugh and Sirius didn't know if he should hit him or walk away, refusing to speak to him for the next few months. Both sounded good. And James? He was just going to kill his supposed best friend and leave him for the Dementors to find. How could he betray him like this?

"If you don't want to be my boyfriend then just say so," Sirius said, getting to his feet, his hands clenching. "I don't need you turning it into a game."

"Because this wasn't a game already?" Remus asked raising an eyebrow. "You planned this with James for over a week."

"I was trying to help you. I can see my efforts were wasted. You've already gone mad." He started for the stairs. If he couldn't have Remus, fine. He'd have to get over it somehow. Maybe tomorrow, but while his emotions were still running wild: he was going to cast a few Unforgivables on his best friend. Surely the wizarding community would understand.

"You're taking this way too seriously."

Sirius stopped, letting out a controlled breath. "You're not taking this seriously enough. I'm not joking. I love you."

"I know."

A thought occurred to Sirius and he turned back to his friend. A game. This was all a sick and twisted game, but this wasn't about Remus being dense or even being mean. He felt his head shaking and he was returning to the couch.

Remus appeared very confused as he did so.

"You had me going there for a minute. I almost thought you had turned into more of an arsehole than you already were." He slid down beside the werewolf enjoying the shocked expression on his face. He didn't wait for Remus to say anything now that he understood what was going on. He leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn't a long kiss, but Sirius had never felt such emotions stirring inside him before. He'd been was in love, no doubt about it. Any crush he'd ever had seemed like nothing compared to this.

"Sirius, you shouldn't -"

"You aren't going to hurt me. Who else can join you during your fluffy time and keep you out of trouble?" He snaked an arm around his friend and pulled him close. In the same beat Remus seemed to come loose like a trick knot, his head coming down onto Sirius' shoulder. "I've been with you from the beginning. I'm still here. Isn't that proof enough?"

"I'd never forgive myself if I hurt you…"

"You won't," Sirius said. He kissed Remus' hair. "And even if you somehow managed to, we have healers—"

"Not if I give it to you," Remus snapped. He tried to pull away then, but Sirius won in keeping him in the embrace. If he let Remus run away now he'd have to convince his friend all over again.

"You won't. I can take care of myself. Remus, you can't give up on having a love life because of this. I told you we were the perfect match. You can trust me. I won't get hurt. You would have already done me in years ago if you could, I promise."

Sirius held him, and Remus let him. Sirius wasn't sure how long it would last, but for now Remus had finally given in.

"I still don't know if I actually love you."

"Of course you don't," Sirius said. "You've been too busy trying to push me away. You're so caught up in your furry problem that you haven't even considered how you really feel at all." He may not think everything through, but he wasn't the idiot everyone had him pegged as. "You're a Gryffindor, so stop running. Please."

"We can give it a try," Remus said. One of his hands fell onto Sirius' own.

"R-really?"

"Don't make me regret this, Sirius."

"I won't," Sirius said. He pulled Remus into his lap, his arms wrapped around him tightly. "I'll prove to you that I'm the best choice."

"We'll see…" Remus' eyes were shutting. Sirius could hardly contain himself then. His grip on Remus tightened. He wanted to watch Remus sleep, but he also wanted to find James and shove his failed sabotage attempt in his specky face. Remus had agreed to date him, or "try" as his boyfriend, as he'd so nicely put it.

Boyfriend. That had a great ring to it. He couldn't wait to say it aloud.

"Remus is my boyfriend," he dared to whisper. The words sent a pleasurable shiver through his body. Yes, that was good. Wonderful, even. Not a single person could claim to have said those words truthfully and no one else would ever be able to, because he had no intention of letting him go.

Despite wanting to be quiet and let Remus sleep, he started to laugh. Only this time he was caught, and Remus gave him a gentle kick to the leg. He kissed Remus on the head and used his wand to hide the wine and glasses for later. He closed his eyes. The common room would be in an uproar when they woke up and found the two of them together. Best they get some sleep now.


	2. Photo problem

**Written for the QLFC, Season 5, Round 1**

 **Position: Chaser 2**

 **Position Prompt:** **Write your Chaser Three's NOTP.**

 **Optional prompts: 2. (word) Yesterday, 4. (image) (** **blog. urbanoutfitters files/Screen%20Shot%202015-11-13%20at%2010.12.22%20AM. png )** **and 9. (song) Dollhouse - Melanie Martinez using the quote "smile for the picture"**

 **Title: Photo problem**

 **Word Count: 1,733 (word)**

 **Beta(s): Vanilla Ashes, Aelys Althea, RawMateriel**

 **I'M A Wanderer!**

The candles flickered as Draco walked into the room. Red. Dark. Red. Dark. Their crimson hue created a grotesque strobe light, which dyed the entire room. The first breath he took had him coughing; a horrible acidic smell flooded his nose and mouth. It reminded him of some of the cleaning potions the house elves would use on particularly bad blood stains.

 _Which this room could use,_ he thought bitterly. Of course, there were no actual bloodstains, Draco had been around enough blood to know that smell well.

He took another step forward. When his eyes began to adjust to the strange lighting: he cursed. There were photos everywhere. On the tables, the shelves, hanging from the ceiling, not to mention the numerous albums situated next to each other on a tall bookcase. What kind of lunatic took so many photos?

"Muggle-borns need to stay out of Wizarding society," he called to the door behind. He knew he should've paid attention to Flitwick's headache inducing lessons; it was going to take him hours to find the picture of him and Ron snogging without a summoning charm, and that was if the thing was even in the room to begin with. His hand drew towards the first pile of photos he saw on a sturdy looking oak table and began sifting through them. Potter eating. Potter talking to Ron, to Hermione. Potter on a broomstick. Potter taking a bath. _Smile for the picture,_ he thought and wrinkled his nose. None of the photos had been posed for. This creep was literally stalking Harry Potter and as such, his friends.

 _Of course Potter would be at the root of our problem_. Draco sighed and dropping the photos back onto the table, he started with the next pile. As much as he wanted, as convenient as it would be to blame Potter, he couldn't. He and Ron had known the dangers of their relationship and why they couldn't let it get out, and yesterday they had still been stupid enough to let it happen. Now Draco had to pay for it by spending his entire evening looking at pictures of Potter.

"Did you find it yet?" Ron asked. He was standing just outside the door of the freak's studio.

"Of course I did, Weasley. I'm just taking a moment to enjoy the atmosphere before I bloody mention it."

"Sorry, do you want me to leave you alone?"

"Get in here and help me!" He dropped the second pile of photos, all of them images of Potter in the Gryffindor common room doing various things. One he'd noted was Potter and Ron playing wizard's chess. Given the look on Ron's face, he'd been winning. "How can you people let him photograph you like this?"

Ron entered the room, a gasp and cough following shortly after. The room really was an assault to the senses. He was beside Draco a few seconds later, looking like he was ready to puke.

"We usually just ignore him. It's not like he sends it off to the _Daily Prophet_ or anything. He's harmless… usually."

"Does this seem harmless?" Draco arched an eyebrow and motioned to all the photos. "These are mostly of Potter."

Ron made a face.

"Let's just find our photo first."

"Right…" Draco moved towards one of the hanging photos. The first one surprised him greatly; it was of something besides Potter. This picture was of Mrs. Norris, who was sitting in front of Filch's office door, her tail swaying back and forth. No doubt, Potter was in Flinch's office or he'd simply left the photo. Draco hardly blamed him.

He was at another hanging photo now, only this one was not as innocent. He shuddered as he watched it, the magic just setting into this one. Potter, Ron, Hermione, and some other Gryffindor were talking near the lake, but the colors had not shown up yet and the figures themselves were moving inch by inch, sometimes stopping in random places or giving a strange twitch or jerk. Even their mouths held half frozen in smiles. Ron's image was trying its best to say something, only instead of his mouth moving it seemed to vibrate in place. Draco couldn't watch it anymore and turned away. Photographers, he decided, were a crazy breed, Muggleborn or not.

"The hanging photos haven't…developed yet," Draco managed.

"So they're the newest," Ron asked.

"Maybe." Draco really didn't want to look at the other photos. If they were in the same stage as the last one he wouldn't be able to stomach it. He was already going to be having nightmares from those he'd seen so far.

Ron moved passed him and started poking around at various things. "There's a sink over here," he said.

"Of course there is." Draco stepped alongside Ron and looked down. Inside the sink, the pungent, nauseating stench of the chemicals was nearly overwhelming. Draco placed his hand over his mouth and nose, his eyes beginning to water. He could just make out the piles of photos in the noxious potion. "I'm not putting my hand in there."

"I will," Ron said confidently, but Draco grabbed his arm before he could. "Let go."

"I don't know about you, but I've had enough of this studio."

"We need to find that photo," Ron said. "Don't we?"

"I'm done looking." Draco led Ron away from the tub and out of the small room. The clean air that met them was wonderful to Draco. He took in a good deal of fresh breaths, his lungs and mind slowly clearing. The familiar candlelight dancing in the hall lifted his mood. His fear ebbed and from it blossomed anger. How could they have let this happen? How could some Gryffindor come along and possibly ruin what Ron and he had worked so hard to conceal? "There's an easier way."

"There is?" Ron looked hopeful.

Draco smiled. Weasley might not be the best-looking guy or the smartest, but there was just something…whatever it was, it drew Draco to him. He wrapped his arms around him tightly and kissed Ron on the neck.

"Of course there is." He released his redhead and pulled his wand out from his robes. If he'd been thinking clearly earlier he could have spared himself the future nightmares he'd be having courtesy of Colin Creevey's studio. "Just stay put." He stepped back into the room, the candles coming to life again in their macabre strobe light dance. Draco didn't wait. He strode towards the oak table and placed his wand tip on it. _"Incendio!"_ The flames shot out of his wand greedily licking every photo in its path. Smoke began rising faster than Draco had thought, and he backed out of the room.

"What'd you do?" Ron asked. He looked at Draco than to the studio door, then back to Draco again. "Did you get the photo?"

"If it's in there, it's not a problem anymore," Draco said with confidence.

"And if it wasn't?" Ron asked.

"We find Creevey and set him on fire," Draco said with a shrug.

"You set the studio on fire?" Ron pushed passed Draco and looked into the room. He  
pulled his head out just as fast, a groan escaping his lips, his shoulders slumping. "Do you know how many detentions you can get for setting a room on fire? At least ten," Ron answered before Draco could ask.

"No one saw us here." He took Ron's hand and gave it a hard squeeze. "We just have to wait  
for Creevey to show up now." Draco led Ron around the corner next to Creevey's studio so they would remain out of sight.

"I'm sorry this happened," Ron muttered.

Draco cupped Ron's neck, gripping it tightly as he drew the redhead close for a kiss. Ron was not at fault and he would not allow his redhead to feel guilt, not for this. They had made a mistake and would need to be more careful in the future, but the blame was on Creevey.

Ron slid against the wall as Draco pushed his tongue in more forcefully.

Ron's arms gripped Draco's waist.

"Creevey's at fault, not you."

Ron nodded back dully, no longer seemed to care who was at fault and remained where he was.

Draco was moving his hands to Ron's shoulders when a loud scream interrupted them. A smirk already forming, Draco came around the corner, his wand held pointblank at Creevey's forehead.

"I believe you have something that belongs to me," he said, raising an eyebrow. He surprised himself for how even his voice was.

"Y-you destroyed my studio!" Creevey looked torn between crying and screaming, his fingers clasped tightly on his camera hanging from his neck. He took a step backwards, shaking his head in quick back and forth jerks. "I'll have you expelled!"

"That's actually the least of my worries. So if that picture is in your camera you have two choices: either you hand it over, or you watch me go to Azkaban from your grave."

Creevey made a choking sound, but he must have believed Draco because he removed the camera from around his neck. He started pressing something on its side and the back popped open, exposing fully formed pictures waiting to be developed. Sniffing, the younger student took them out and handed them to Draco.

"Here."

Draco snatched them from his hand, shoving them into his pocket.

"Seems some Gryffindors' have common sense." He snickered at his own joke. "Ron and I are off limits from your creepy hobby," he said, his tone all but promising death. "Understood?"

Creevey nodded again, tears falling freely now.

"Good. And just so you know, Mudblood, your hobby is _creepy_." He stressed the word as much as he could.

He turned his back on Creevey then, knowing the student wouldn't attack him. There were fates worse than Azkaban when Voldemort was an option. When he turned the corner, he saw Ron just staring at him. Draco removed the photos from his pocket with his free hand, put his wand tip to them and they were gone in rush of flames.

"You shouldn't…"

"I'm protecting both of us," Draco said when Ron didn't finish his sentence.

"I know…" Ron closed his eyes and took Draco's hand in his own.

They walked down the hall in silence, Draco noting the large smile on Ron's face.


	3. Uprising

**Written for the QLFC, Season 5, Round 2**

 **Position: Chaser 2**

 **Position Prompt:** **Location: Durmstrung**

 **Optional prompts: 4. (Image)Heart in a cage.** **. 7** **. (song) All we know by The Chainsmokers 14. (word) contagious**

 **Title: Uprising**

 **Word Count: 2,565 (word)**

 **Beta(s): DinoDina, Aelys Althea, RawMateriel, Vanilla Ashes**

 **I'M A Wanderer!**

The words were huge, easily seen from the entrance, seared into the doors of what had to be the Great Hall in large black scars:

' **Don't touch anything and get out!'**

A small golden birdcage hung from the door handle beneath. What looked to be a wicker heart hanging inside of it burnt.

 _What in the…._

Harry reread the words slowly before examining the birdcage. Nothing about it seemed out of the ordinary. Aside from the fact that someone hung a birdcage from a door handle, burnt a wicker heart, and then shoved the heart inside for someone to find later on. Was that common practice in Durmstrang?

 _It could be like Voldemort's Dark Mark,_ he thought, a frown forming. Perhaps a burnt heart meant someone was dead. Maybe there was a new dark wizard rising as Kingsley feared.

He gripped the door handle and pulled it open, expecting the worst. Candles danced to life, creating an overall welcoming ambiance despite the cold interior. The walls, the floor, even the tables and the benches beneath them were all made of stone. The only color came from the dark red tapestry behind the head's chair which was situated in the center toward the back of the room on a raised platform.

A quick glance around the room revealed nothing out of the ordinary. No bodies or signs of struggle. As Harry stepped inside he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. When he stopped to take in the room as a whole he noticed why. All of the tables still had food on them just waiting for students to partake. He almost grabbed a piece of fruit, but stopped. What if the warning burned into the door had been about the food? There was no telling how long the food had been there and yet it showed no signs of decay. It looked fresh with no mold. When Harry sniffed the food. It didn't give off any kind of overpowering gut wrenching stench.

 _Poisoned?_ He wondered, moving away from the table and its contents. _Why would a dark wizard poison an entire school?_

A full walk around the Great Hall offered no answers. If someone had indeed come in and killed off the entire student body and no doubt some of the staff, Harry could find no signs of it. He didn't think a dark wizard would clean the bodies up; leaving them would be more effective in striking fear than a birdcage with a burned heart inside it.

Sighing, the Auror left the room. The Entrance Hall looked no different. The same two small hallways jutted out on each side with a worn red rug flowing from the front door like rivers of blood. Neither side showed any more promise than the other. Harry began down the left branch. The hallway was narrower than he'd originally thought. The Durmstrang students would only be able to walk three abreast. The end of the hall took a sharp turn to the right. Not far from the turn was an average sized door. No birdcage, no burned words. Harry stepped inside.

The small room was possibly an office of some sort with papers scattered all over the floor and the single table in the room. The only light was from a few flickering candles floating randomly near the ceiling. Harry looked down at the first piece of paper, and frowned as he read it.

 **'A few days at most. Dehydration at its worst. No matter how much liquid is given, the results are the same.'**

"Dehydration?" He looked at the other papers; most of them had to do with antidotes and notes about potion ingredients. This was probably their potion master's study. Snape would have been appalled to have such a small room to plan his classes.

He searched a little longer, finding only books and a half finished lesson plan.

He passed back into the hall wondering what kind of potion would cause horrible dehydration. Durmstrang was known for practicing the dark arts. Did burnt wicker hearts in birdcages and dehydration fall under dark magical practice? The note had said: dehydration at its worst. Perhaps the potion they were working on could kill someone.

"Where is everyone?" He let out a small growl in frustration as he reached the end of the next hall. This one broke into four different paths including the one he was on. None of them opened up enough to give him an idea of his surroundings. None of the ceilings went beyond eight feet in height and none of them seemed to have windows. The only light came from the candles sitting in hollowed niches in the stone'. He felt like he was walking through tunnels.

With nothing but his gut to guide him, he started down the hall directly across from the one he'd been in. Halfway down, he found a book bag with the shoulder handle ripped. He bent and emptied its contents onto the floor. A few candy wrappers and some paper fell out. The same message from the first room was scrawled on one of the pieces. The second note was different:

' **The danger is spreading faster than previously thought. Touch nothing'**

Harry straightened and glanced around. There were no signs of a struggle besides the broken bag. Perhaps there was a dark wizard somewhere and people were fighting? That would explain the deserted hallways. What it didn't tell Harry was _where_ they were fighting. None of the claustrophobic halls would be ideal for a fight. They may work to provide a defense though. Could the castle transform its interior to handle threats?

"I should have asked Kingsley or Hermione about this place before coming," he muttered. The only thing he was certain of was that Durmstrang was: cold, enclosed, and most likely had a rising dark wizard hiding within its walls.

He left the book bag and notes where he'd found them and kept walking. Soon enough he reached yet another fork. This one only had two routes: the left one bore another birdcage with the same burned wicker heart inside hanging from the ceiling.

Harry stopped as he walked beneath the birdcage. Unlike the Great Hall, something felt wrong. The hall was no darker than the others, the air just as stale and cold, yet there was something.

It didn't matter. Harry needed to find some kind of real evidence to send back to the Ministry. Just showing them hastily written notes would get him nowhere. While he had seen no one, he could very well have been the one to set off Durmstrang's defensive measures - if that was what these closed halls were.

The corridor turned out to be very long. Harry had no idea where he was anymore and hoped he hadn't been caught in a magical trap. When he finally spied a set of double doors, he actually laughed. His laugh died when he saw not one, but two birdcages hanging from each door handle. More burnt writing across the wall and doors:

' **Get out while you still can!'**

Next to the words an arrow was pointing in the direction Harry had just come from. If it wasn't for the voice in Harry's head telling him to listen, the same voice that had repeatedly saved him, he would think this was a joke. Perhaps it was. Maybe Kingsley had seen how bored he'd been and decided to create some fun for him. It didn't seem like something Kingsley would do, but none of it made any sense. The birdcages, the notes? Durmstrang had a very strict policy of secrecy. Their Ministry probably wouldn't allow Harry to enter their school for any reason. If anything, they would have sent in their own Auror.

He opened the door and stepped inside. At least thirty beds were haphazardly strewn about, each jutting at a different angle and a few overturned with sheets and blankets hanging off of them. There were more papers on the floor. Some empty food trays, no signs of the food that had been on them. Then he noticed the marks on the walls where misfired spells had struck. So the battle had taken place inside the infirmary? Either the dark wizard and his followers or the surviving students and staff had made the infirmary their safe house. Whoever had been hiding; it didn't seem they'd fared too well.

Another door that led to the nurse's office was open. Harry gasped when he stuck his head through the doorway. There were burnt papers on the floor. The small room reeked of burnt wood and Harry was sure the pile of ashes in the corner had been another desk or bed. Broken potion bottles covered the floor and each step Harry took made him wince as the glass crunched beneath his feet. The remaining desk had been cleared of everything but one piece of paper with a single sentence:

" **There's nothing we can do."**

No sooner had the words left Harry's mouth than the candles began flickering. Darkness. One by one, each candle flickered back to life considerably dimmer than before. Harry's eyes locked on the office door leading back into the infirmary. All of his instincts seemed to kick-in at once. He didn't know how, but he could sense someone had arrived in the hallway in that moment of darkness.

 _Crack._

Quiet, but noticeable. The sound was unfamiliar and definitely just beyond the door.

 _Riiiip._

Harry's heart stopped. He wanted to run, _had_ to run. Bravery wasn't a factor which could help him in that moment. No, this feeling was feral. Bred into animals from birth to keep them alive. He didn't sense evil, but rather dread and a warning of death, almost like the feeling a Dementor could cause.

Did Durmstrang have Dementors stalking their halls at night? Another defense for the castle? Harry doubted that, but with all the others strange things he'd found so far…

There was a low intake of air, almost a hiss at first. The lingering sound grew to be a slow, hoarse rattle. The hair-raising noise drew out into a low moan.

Harry forced himself forward and stopped just as he passed from the office into the infirmary. Standing against the back of the infirmary was a wizard bending backwards far beyond the norm, his upper torso past the equilibrium point and yet somehow managing to remain standing.

" _Uuuggghrrreeekooaaaan."_

The wizard's upper body straightened slowly, like a puppet raised on its strings. He leaned forward, giving Harry a once over. Then he was moving: his body twitching, his skin and muscles seemingly protesting. Every step a slow jerk. Harry's eyes darted to the wand the wizard was holding. He gripped his own tightly.

Harry managed a step forward to the double doors, and then another. The wizard came closer. Harry's eyes widened as he watched the wizard, he would have to pass him to escape. There was no doubt the man was or at least had been a wizard. But his skin was pulled so tightly around him that Harry could make out every detail of his muscles and every path his veins took; every spasm of energy that brought this thing movement. His eyes seemed to bulge, his lips pulled back into an impossible grin; gums and teeth hideously bright against the rest of its pale body. Each stagger the wizard took wrought small rips in his waxy skin. Thin lines of red became gashes and blood began rushing freely down the thing's legs.

Harry didn't care if there were Dementors in the halls. He scrambled out of the office, nearly falling as he did, and flew to the double doors. He was through, slamming the door shut faster than he'd ever moved in his life. His wand still in his grip, he tapped the door muttering a locking spell. A faint click told him the spell had worked. He wasn't going to stick around to find out if the spell would keep the thing in the infirmary.

 _I need to run! But which way had that other thing gone?_

"AAAARRAAAGH!"

Harry didn't think. He turned his back to the direction the arrow was pointing and bolted for his life. Dementors didn't scream like that. Inferi couldn't make any noises.

Something crashed behind him, the ground shaking. His legs managed to move faster. The hallway seemed to stretch forever. The sounds grew louder. No escape. His lungs started to burn. His side was hurting. Suddenly a door came into view and he was through it. His breath came out in ragged gasps. Harry stepped away from the door, his eyes never leaving it.

The smashing noises passed the door seconds later.

At least whatever was out there didn't know how to use doors.

Harry let out a breath as quietly as he could and turned. He gasped, taking a step back. In front of him was a corpse. This one at least looked normal. The wand was still in his mouth where he'd clamped down on it with his teeth. Next to his free hand lay a journal. Harry took the journal and opened it.

The first few pages contained the same information he'd already read alongside scribbled notes about potions and various types of healing magic. Nothing in it said anything about an uprising of a dark wizard. The next page read like a journal entry, and might be all he needed to complete his investigation:

' _Today marks the fourteenth since the outbreak. Even Nina, with all her medical expertise believed it was just a bout of flu. We worked together to create an antidote. She said this strain was different from any other strain she had seen. We set up quarantines as it began to spread. We thought that it was airborne like other magical flus, spread by droplets of saliva or mucus. At the time it was all we knew. We worked hard for a week before we realized the futility of our efforts._

' _The blood is contagious. Just a few drops is enough to spread the disease. If only we'd known. We could have saved so many. We could have sent for help. We could have somehow made this right, but the school is lost. We tried everything. Once the disease takes hold, the infected became immune to magical means. Potions and healing are useless. The infected dehydrated beyond anything we've ever encountered. Their magic seems to leave them as their water does. The person in question loses what senses they have and a few….a few lose their magic in bursts, releasing hulking beasts that are relentless in their chase of the uninfected. We placed bird cages with burned hearts inside on doors as warnings to where the infected are.'_

Harry took a moment to process the words. So doors would not keep the infected in place. And whatever was in the hallway had to have been a result of magical energy being forced out of witch or wizard because of this flu. The whole situation sounded unreal and nauseating. He couldn't quite blame the wizard for ending his own life.

' _This is all we know. We're falling apart. The school, the students, the staff. All of it, gone. I have found no survivors and I refuse to fall prey to this virus."_

Signed; Kristoff Halvorsen, Durmstrang Potion's master.


	4. A Chance Meeting

**Written for the QLFC, Season 5, Round 5**

 **Position: Chaser 2**

 **Position Prompt:** **Lavender (as inspired by Lavender Brown): Write about a character who is not able to trust someone they love.**

 **Optional prompts: 11. (poem) 'Flower of Love' by Oscar Wilde**

 **6\. (picture) overgrown gravestones**

 **10\. (song) Amnesia - 5 Seconds of Summer**

 **Word Count: 1036 (word)**

 **Beta(s): DinoDina**

 **I'M A Wanderer!**

 **THIS IS an AU story. Also SHONEN AI WARNING**

 **A Chance Meeting**

Harry's back slid up against the crumbling overgrown grave, its rough stone only interrupted by the strong, twisted, dried out, vine-like fingers clinging in a death grip around the memorial. His lungs burned, his eyes wide, his mouth dry. His robes were in tatters, his fingers bleeding, but too numb to actual hurt. He'd crawled backwards over broken stones, thorny bushes, whatever else lied in his path, to the dead end he was at now. His intake of breath was more of a hiss and the sound had the dark shadowed figure jerking its head toward him.

Why? Why had he been so stupid? It would have been so much easier if he'd just simply waited. But he knew why. Waiting for the others meant leading them to their possible deaths. It meant perhaps trying to explain to them something he could hardly admit to himself. It meant admitting to himself that this was wrong, but that his desire was far stronger than what was considered right.

 _Waiting could have gotten one of them killed…_ Of course, now he was going to be the one killed. Not that he was too worried about that. His life may not be horrible, but he had always felt like he was living on borrowed time since his fight against Voldemort. A feeling deep in his bones told him he was not supposed to have gotten up from the woods all those long years ago.

A loud snicker brought him back to his senses. He needed to move, now.

He shifted his weight, ready to lunge, when a scream even inhuman to his ears erupted from his throat. Pain coursed through his ankle, a skeleton hand protruding from the grave, its clawed fingers digging deeply into his skin, thin streams of blood pooling beneath his leg.

"Oh look, I've caught Harry Potter. Again." The cloaked figure came towards him until he was standing right in front of him. His arms folded across his chest, Harry could just imagine the look of slight annoyance on the man's face. "Love, have I not warned you to stay out of my business?"

"It's not my fault your _business_ catches the ministry's attention and I get called in to deal with you." They stared at each other in silence, Harry hoping he had a glare on his face rather than one of pain. At least he probably wouldn't be dying soon. Unless of course Tom had had enough. He'd always told Harry one day he'd cross a line and he would have no choice, but to end things. His boyfriend wasn't giving off a murderous vibe, though. Rather, he seemed amused. A good sign.

"You should honestly just tell them you have a conflict of interest." Tom removed his hood and knelt down, his scarlet eyes dancing with amusement, just as Harry had thought, his high cheekbones accenting his handsome smile. He brought a hand up and stroked Harry's cheek gently.

"The skeleton?" Harry gave Tom a dark look. The dead fingers unwrapped from around his ankle falling harmlessly back into the dirt. "You told me you weren't going to do any more necromancy." Harry had had a good idea just who was behind the uprising of the dead the second he'd gotten his assignment. Who else would have the power to summon forth over twenty undead and surround a nearby village? Granted, every time he went on assignment he worried he would be facing his boyfriend. Sometimes he was lucky and there were no signs of his boyfriend's involvement. Other times…

"I'm not." He gave Harry a quick kiss before helping him to his feet. "I'm transfiguring. No souls involved, just animation."

"You're unbelievable."

"Resourceful," Tom corrected, his smile becoming a large grin. "I know you're happy to see me."

"Not here," Harry said. He tried to grip his wand, failed, and looked at his hands. He knew they had to be bad, but hadn't thought they were this torn up. It looked like he'd wrestled fiercely with barbed wire and lost.

"I don't like it when you destroy what's mine." Tom's wand was out and he tapped both Harry's hands then his ankle. The cuts and blood stopped, the feeling slowly flowing back into his fingers.

"Your skeletons did this!"

"Well, if you'd just stayed home like a good boy…" He snickered, seeing Harry's face, and kissed him again. "I did miss you."

"Sometimes I start to wonder, was it just a lie?"

Tom looked at him, his smile fading.

"What's a lie?"

"Us." Harry motioned to the graveyard and the small army of skeletons that surrounded them. What kind of couple went through this? "Are we lying to ourselves?"

"No! I've never felt anything about anyone. I didn't even think it was possible, but you…" His face softened and suddenly Harry was being held. He returned the embrace wondering if his boyfriend's words were real this time or just another farce to keep Harry from finally giving up and letting the ministry take him to Azkaban. "I love you."

"Do you?" Harry dropped his forehead onto Tom's shoulder and closed his eyes. "If you cared about me even a little, would you really be running off and performing dark arts behind my back?"

"You know perfectly well what I do when you're not around."

Tom's voice was cold and his words were true. Harry always hoped, lied to himself even, that Tom wasn't off doing something stupid the second he stepped out the door. He assured himself time and time again that his boyfriend would find something constructive, in a good way, to do with his time. Not once had Harry been right. And each time Harry had told himself that he should leave. And each time he found himself unable to do so. Because no matter what crimes Tom committed, he was in love.

"I know you don't trust me, I don't blame you, but Harry, I do love you."

"I know," Harry said quietly. He gripped Tom tighter wishing he could somehow change everything. "I love you too."

Tom's embrace tightened and Harry felt all of his fears begin to fade. Somehow, they would made it work. One day.


	5. The Miracle Cure

Thank yous: To DinoDina my wonderful partner in crime this round. Without her help of researching that there is nothing to find about the Unspeakbles and letting me bounce ideas, this would not have been possible. Thank you so much! And thanks to Ash for putting up with the rest of my crap and agreeing with Dina that this was worth doing. Also thanks to a family member who I badgered with random questions about things. I never did tell them why I kept asking questions...

Betas: DinoDina, AelysAlthea. Thanks so much guys!

Notes: CRISPR technology is a simple yet powerful tool for editing genomes. It allows researchers to easily alter DNA sequences and modify gene function. Its many potential applications include correcting genetic defects, treating and preventing the spread of diseases and improving crops (link is livescience dot com slash 58790-crispr-explained dot html )

This stuff is really amazing and I can't wait to see it in action.

Also, I would like to point out that Augustus Pye is the healer from book five that used stitches on Arthur Weasley.

The research that went into some of this was ridiculous.

Written for QLFC: Season 5, Round 7

Position: Chaser 2

Position prompt: Write about a witch or wizard trying to figure out how (one or more) Muggle technology works in an experimental space, i.e. a lab of any kind, and the chaos that ensues.

Optional prompts:

(word) motor

5\. (phrase) change the lightbulb

11\. (quote) Computer science is no more about computers than astronomy is about telescopes. - Edsger Dijkstra

Word count: 2726 (Microsoft Word )

Title: The Miracle Cure

Augustus Pye let out a long breath as he pushed through the second set of swinging double doors leading into the medical lab. He remembered to look down at his feet as he came in this time, so the artificial lights wouldn't blind him. The strong stench of disinfectant assaulted his nose, but he walked straight over to his patient without expressing a single hint of disgust.

The same could not be said for his volunteer: Joseph Burke. Burke was a twenty-five-year-old human male in excellent health, if one could ignore the fact that he was a Squib. He had complained before about the smell in the room and, given the look on his face, he was going to again.

"Joseph," Augustus said, his Healer smile slipping into place. One of the first things taught in Healing School was to compose one's expression. Smile and be confident even when scared beyond wit so as not to exacerbate your patient's distress. It was your job to be the patient's anchor. "How are you feeling today?"

"Giddy enough to feel like I've been slipped a strong Pepper-Up Potion," Joseph said. He was indeed shifting back and forth on the metal table in the center of the room, the artificial lights coming down on him from all directions left no shadows on him. His hands were fidgeting on his pants, gripping the fabric then releasing it. "This _is_ going to work, right?"

"According to the data it will, but you'll be the first one to find out," Augustus said.

 _Would_ it work? The chances were decently high that it would. The experiments that Augustus had been working on for the past few months almost promised the desired results. And yet, he could not deny a feeling of unease. He'd wanted more time to learn the different ways of manipulating genes and the different outcomes that may be brought about in doing so. A few weeks ago, however, his delicately planned schedules were drastically changed.

He looked up towards the glass windows that ran the length of the entire round room. Behind those shields were the witches and wizards that had suddenly taken control not only of his research, but also his life. Each of them wore Muggle attire today instead of their uniforms: purple, almost black, robes, and a gold-colored badge as a symbol of enlightenment.

"Augustus?"

The Healer turned back to his patient, his smile already reaffixed. It would do him no good to stand against those on the other side of the room. What he didn't understand was how, as fellow researchers, the Department of Mysteries' workers would demand he speed up his work. Surely, they knew how dangerous that was, no matter what the underlying experiments resulted in. None of his research had ever been tested on a living witch or wizard. Anything could go wrong or right at this point.

"Just making sure the room was equipped properly." The lie smoothly left his lips: yet another technique taught to all Healers. You must be able to lie to your patients with that smile on your face. No sense in making them uneasy. That would merely make the job harder. "So this is how today's procedure is going to work. I took some of your blood last time, and a tissue sample before, do you remember?"

"Can't we skip this part?"

"Alright, alright. So I took some of your DNA and, using a Muggle method called CRISPR, I "fixed" your DNA so to speak," Augustus said. He wanted Joseph to know exactly what was going on. It was important to let the patient know what to expect and what was being done. This kept fear from building. Not that Joseph was exactly fearful, or had been at any point.

"So how do I get it back? Are you going to put it in a potion?" Joseph scanned the room and looked disappointed to see no potion bottles or ingredients laying about.

"No, we'll be using more Muggle technology again." Augustus was hesitant about some of these things. He had never used CRISPR before. Sure, he'd read a lot of lengthy Muggle scientific and medical journals on the subject, but to actually be using it, to not know how it would affect a witch or wizard, or even a Squib for that matter…

His worries would do no good. The Unspeakables were excited about his working theory and wanted it tested immediately.

Augustus motioned to a long, metal pole with two small loops on the top. Connected to the loop was a plastic bag filled with clear liquid, a small tube wrapped around the other loop. Joseph's eyes darted from the IV to the plastic covered needle on the nearby tray, his skin paling. He sighed.

"Yes, you know what's coming," Augustus laughed. He sure wished _he_ did.

"Why are Muggles so fascinated with hurting themselves first in order to be healed?" Joseph said. "Do Muggles enjoy pain?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Augustus said. "So you understand what I'm doing? That I'm going to use this needle to put your DNA back in, all fixed?"

"Just get it over with." Joseph lay back on the metal table and closed his eyes.

Augustus' thoughts exactly. He had never used CRISPR in any of his experiments, but the Unspeakables had sworn to him that CRISPR was the answer to his theory. And while he'd already done the initial changes and the cells seemed to be reproducing properly now, unbroken like any witch or wizard he'd taken samples from, he still felt like he was forgetting something.

"Now, I'll—"

Joseph sat up, his hand slamming down hard on the metal table. The sound was loud and as angry as Joseph looked.

"Just turn on that motor and give me my magic!"

"Fine," August said, throwing his hands into the air. He didn't bother telling Joseph that an IV drip required no motor. No sense in riling him up any further. He could understand Joseph's impatience too. If Augustus had been born without magic and the chance had risen for him to obtain it, he knew he would jump on it. Still, things were progressing too fast. He had expected to work on his theory and his research for another two years or so before getting to this point. To test it out on some magical creatures perhaps. He had voiced this to the Unspeakables, but they would hear nothing of it. They were far more excited in what he was trying to do than worried about possible errors.

Augustus grabbed a small length of rubber and wrapped it around Joseph's left forearm before he began palpitating for a vein. "Make a fist and clench it," he ordered.

Joseph did as he was told, his shoulders sinking, eyes becoming somewhat wide. His eagerness seemed to fall away completely as the realization of what was going to happen.

"This is barely going to hurt," Augustus said. He took an alcohol swab, ripped open the packaging and swabbed the crook of Joseph's elbow. Then he was removing the needle from its plastic covering. Drawing it out would do no good. He located the vein and inserted the needle as painlessly as possible. Joseph winced, but didn't scream. "Doing better than the wizard I took a sample from the other day." Augustus grabbed the plastic tubing and connected it to the needle. "Ready?"

"Augustus, I've been ready from the moment I found out I was a Squib."

Augustus gave a small nod and undid the plastic stopper. The liquid began flowing down the tube within seconds.

Joseph's smile brightened and he lay back down on the table. "How long will this take?"

"Ten minutes, perhaps a little longer. CRISPR and the fixed genes need to get into your body. Once the corrected cells start producing the fixed gene, your magic should awaken."

"So in ten minutes I should be a wizard?"

"If all goes well. If it's not strong enough, we might have to repeat the process a few times, but yes. If nothing else, you should be less of a Squib in ten minutes."

Joseph's smile seemed to relax and he closed his eyes. "Just think, after this is over, I can go buy a wand!"

"Don't get ahead of yourself."

Augustus would be thrilled if that was the case. In fact, that was the goal of this research. Years back, he'd been reading about Muggle genes and how doctors were finding ways to replace missing or broken genes. New gene therapy technology had evolved since. Augustus had practiced with a few, mostly with plants. Everything else he had merely read in research journals.

CRISPR was the newest and most promising technology, a way to directly hone in on a troublesome area and fix it with ease. The only problem was he'd never used it. He'd never even seen a Muggle use it. The Healer had done exactly what the research journals had said, but actually putting the method into practice was another thing. Actually using the technology made him uneasy.

 _But if this_ does _work…._

"Once I'm a full-fledged wizard, I'll need a tutor. I've always wanted to be a metal charmer. You know, a way to leave my magic behind to help people even after I've died? But I think that will be a hobby… after being a Squib, I think it's important for the wizarding world to realize that Squibs aren't useless. I want to help as many Squibs as I can to be healed."

"That's a rather large goal," Augustus said, looking Joseph over. He could see no changes in the man. Joseph's breathing remained normal, his skin had returned to its normal color now that he was relaxed.

 _Drip... Drip.._.

He scanned the IV. Probably another two or three minutes before it was empty. "Let me know if anything feels different," Augustus said.

"I feel absolutely wonderful. Thanks to you, I will be able to walk through Diagon Alley without looks of pity and insults being thrown at me."

Augustus gazed back up at the windows. Perhaps he'd been too hard on the Unspeakables. Surely they were much more knowledgeable than him. They told him they'd gone over all of his work from the beginning. They may have even carried out their own experiments. In fact, they probably had. They just didn't know as much about gene editing as he did and so asked him to perform the final stages.

Augustus started to laugh then. How could he have been so stupid as to think the Unspeakables wouldn't do their own homework? They were the Unspeakables; research was their job.

"I haven't turned a weird color, have I?"

Joseph's voice brought Augustus back to the surgery lab.

"No." He drew his attention back to the patient, where it likely should have been the whole time. It was considered rude, not to mention completely unprofessional to not remain focused on your patient.

Augustus blinked a few times as he looked Joseph over again. Something seemed odd, but he couldn't quite place it. He watched intently for a moment, but nothing else seemed to happen.

 _I'm just making myself paranoid over nothing._

Except that the atmosphere in the room seemed to be changing. It no longer felt sterile or enclosed, but as though a window had been opened.

"Joseph, you're about done here," Augustus said. "I'll be removing the IV and then I want you to rest for a moment before I take some more samples from you and look them over." He reached for some healing cream and slipped the IV out of Joseph's arm. He removed it in one smooth motion and placed the cream on the small puncture left behind. It healed instantly. "Well? Do you feel any different, Joseph?"

KHRASSH!

Augustus stumbled backwards, glass showering him, the room dimming. One of the lightbulbs had exploded.

"Jeez! I'll have to change the lightbulb after this." His heart pounding, Augustus laughed again. Muggle technology could be so finicky sometimes. He shook some of the glass out of his hair, his laugh dying. Joseph had not reacted at all to the light bulb exploding.

He moved his fingers to Joseph's neck. There was definitely still a pulse.

"Joseph!" Augustus wasn't sure what to do. He had never read of someone slipping into a coma or passing out from being exposed to CRISPR or during gene therapy. Sure, blood pressure could drop, but it felt like Joseph's was rising.

The room began to change more.

Kreeeek...

The upper windows around the lab began to splinter into thousands of tiny cracks. Fast, jerky movements had Augustus glued to Joseph immediately.

"No…." He stepped away unsure of what to do. His volunteer, almost-friend, was convulsing. His very form seemed to spasm and distort. His features rippled over one another, sometimes vanishing all together only to reappear misshapen.

Wind somehow began picking up in the room flowing in Joseph's direction, everything not connected to the floor besides Augustus going with it.

The windows gave out. Augustus had no choice but to shield himself from the flying glass and wind. The shards sunk into some of Joseph's arms and legs, but he showed no signs of registering the pain. The wind intensified, its low moan becoming a howling scream.

Joseph rose, his eyes opening.

"Joseph!" Augustus moved forward to enclose the Squib in his own shield when he saw the white eyes. Joseph's pupils were missing. Augustus stopped, his wand arm hanging limply at his side. The wind was coming from Joseph.

"MOVE!"

Augustus barely heard the warning, let alone had time to obey it. Green flashes of light from all around the room's broken viewing windows shot down. Twelve green lights hit Joseph at once. The man jerked forward, his mouth opening, eyes bulging before the wind suddenly died. With nothing holding Joseph up, his body crumpled to the floor. One look at his white eyes staring unblinkingly forward, his arms outstretched towards Augustus, told the Healer he was dead. No one could withstand twelve Killing Curses at once; not even Harry Potter.

"Why…?"

The lab door burst open. Twelve people were suddenly in the room with him. Four wizards had their wands out and were already levitating Joseph's body into the air. They left as quickly as they'd come with the corpse.

"What happened?" Augustus managed.

The older wizard he'd first met, the Head of the Department of Mysteries, approached him. "I'm sorry you had to see this Mr. Pye,"he said.

"It was his own genes…"

"Yes, and you fixed them splendidly for your first try," the old wizard said. He patted Augustus gently on the shoulder. "These things happen."

"He… he lost control," Augustus said, beginning to realize what had happened. He'd never thought to see such a thing in his life. It hadn't happened to anyone in centuries. "How can an Obscurus form so fast? According to the records I've read it usually takes years for someone to become an Obscurial!"

"That's enough Mr. Pye," the Unspeakable said. "This did not happen."

"But—"

"Both sides will perform more work, and then we'll simply try again."

"Try again?" Augustus echoed. How could they possibly expect him to try this again? He almost considered Joseph his friend, at least his co-worker. They had spent months together working towards the goal of fixing a Squib's damaged magical gene in order to give them their powers. Then the Unspeakables had gotten involved and thrown everything off and now...now Joseph was dead.

His outrage must have shown on his face, because the old wizard began to laugh. "Mr. Pye, computer science is no more about computers than astronomy is about telescopes, and you are our computer. We shall see you again soon."

The other witches and wizards that had come down with the Head of the Department of Mysteries had already fixed up the room. The older wizard waved towards them and they were gone just as fast as they'd materialized.

Augustus stared at the doors before looking back at the metal table Joseph had been lying on. None of it felt real anymore. He dropped onto the floor, staring at the bed, wondering what exactly it was that had gone wrong with what the Muggles had been calling their miracle cure.


	6. Why She Learned It

**Team: Wigtown Wanders:**

 **Position: Chaser 2**

 **player: Kage Kitsune**

 **For the Daily Prophet character spell** **competition**

 **Main prompt: CHASER 2** : Ginny—Bat Bogey Hex

Optional Prompts:

(word): contrary

(word): laughter

(colour): grey

Word Count: 933 (according to Microsoft word)

Title: Why She Learned it

She had learned it for him. She wanted to protect him, to stand beside him as an equal, but more than anything, Ginny Weasley wanted to be _noticed_. She had spent countless hours of studying to master the simple hex. Sneaking in practice any moment she could. She did not understand why this hex was so difficult for her to master when it was so easy for others. Her tears flowed continuously during this time until she couldn't see, her eyes swollen from the constant onslaught and the wiping of her eyes with her robe sleeve.

Ginny poured her heart into the wand movements, quick, her aim precise, and her stance strong. She learned the incarnation by heart, her words clear and proud.

She learned it, because she thought a boogey hex would not look girlish, but would not do harm. She wanted to be taken seriously, to show others she would not be pushed around. She wanted him to understand that she could help. That she was not weak. Not just his best friend's sister. Not just some girl.

And finally her time came.

Contrary to the grey sky, laughter rang through the courtyard. Not _his_ beautiful laugh, the one that made her smile and turned her face red. No, the laughter of the one who sent chills down her spine. Draco Malfoy.

It wasn't hard to locate the dueling pair. A large group of students had surrounded her idiot brother and, to her dismay, Harry. Professors were nowhere in sight and no one else was there to stop them.

Ginny slipped her wand out of her robes, confidant in her ability to help. No one tried to stop her as she pushed through the crowd. Her fingers tightened around the wand. While she didn't care what Malfoy did to her brother, Harry was not to be harmed.

She broke into the middle of the circle that had been created. Why were the other students not helping? Both Ron and Harry had bloody noses. Malfoy's goons stood beside their fellow Slytherin, awaiting orders . If she didn't act she would never forgive herself. This was her chance. She was a Weasley. She was a Gryffindor.

Her wand came up with tip pointed directly at Malfoy's nose.

" _Vespertilio mucus!"_ A thin red jet of light pulsed from her wand and took residence in Draco's nose. The Slytherins' cruel laughter stopped. His hands clutched his nose before five large black bats shot out of it. The group of students were the ones laughing now, the Malfoy's display of power ruined. Draco cursed Ginny, promising her revenge. Ginny watched them coolly, a smile on her lips as a bat dove down and clutched Draco Malfoy's hair, another clawing at his back. He ran off with his two pet gorillas and did not look back.

She watched them go, her chest filling with fire; assurance. Even a fourth year student could handle someone like Malfoy when given the chance. She turned to look at the two boys pitifully lying on the ground.

"You two okay?" She held her hand out to Harry, who took it. Once he was on his feet, he helped Ron up. Ginny noted Harry's nose must be broken,and her fingers clenched tighter around her wand. If only she had arrived earlier.

"When did you learn that?" Ron asked.

"Doesn't matter, I saved both of you," Ginny said, her eyes dancing with flames. She couldn't wait to write to her older brothers. They would praise her for her work.

"It was brilliant!" Ron said.

"Yeah, that was cool," Harry agreed. He offered her a smile. "Thanks."

The two boys were shuffling off, leaving the redhead behind. She watched them go, her feelings soaring at the gratitude Harry had given her. The feeling did not last long. She wanted Harry to look at her longer. To talk to her. To acknowledge that she was just as good—no, better—than her brother. She could help him too!

A few of the students who'd been watching the duel, told her how cool she was, but the words meant nothing. She didn't need their praise, only his.

A hand fell on her shoulder and clasped it tight.

"Hem hem."

Ginny could feel the color leave her face as she looked up at Umbridge.

"I believe fighting at school is against the rules, Ms. Weasley. That will not do at all." That sweet sickly voice.

And then she was in detention.

Being alone with her thoughts was probably the worst punishment anyone could give her. Here she was forced to remember that Harry Potter did not care about her. That even though she had tried so hard, it was all for nothing.

She watched the grey sky outside through the window turn black. She wondered why she was being punished when Malfoy was not. If she ever stood a chance at getting Harry to see her, to accept her. About the way Harry's eyes had looked when he'd thanked her.

A sigh escaped her lips and she leaned down on the desk.

She remembered his praising of her in that gentle voice of his. That small smile he'd given her, embarrassed, but not because he'd been saved by a girl. Her face lit up and she let out a quiet laugh. Perhaps it had been worth it. All the time she had put in. The dates she had passed up. The friends she had turned down. All in order to study this hex.

Yes, perhaps it was. After all. She had learned it, because she loved him.


	7. Deciding a Path Forward

Written for QLFC: Season 5, Round 8

Position: Chaser 2

Position Prompt: Song: I think we're alone, "I think we're alone now"

Optional Prompts:

(image) art/Running-away-from-blue-171028854

object) zinc

(word) elegant

CHASER 2: Chaser 1, QUEEN EMPTH, Tornados: in Deathly Hallows Harry/Hermione end up together

Word count: 1609 (word)

AN: So, for the running away from blue. "Life always has sadness along but if we know how to get rid of them and trying to smile, it will make our brighter day.  
What's I mean here is be happy & believe me, we are still luckier than lot of peoples on this world."

Those are taken directly from the summary from d.a. In that sense, I used Harry's trying to run from his nightmares as the "running away from blue" or sad thoughts. As well as running from his darker thoughts, to better ones by accepting Hermione as his loved one. I hope that makes sense…I know I shouldn't have to explain a prompt use, but I thought this one may be confusing.

BETA: AelysAlthea

Title: Deciding a Path Forward

She'd always been there for him. Always. When he needed support or a few kind words, she was there to offer comfort. When no one else believed him, no one trusted him; she was standing beside him with a gentle smile and a fierce loyalty, daring others to utter a word in defiance. Even his best friend Ron couldn't claim that. When he needed help gathering his thoughts or simply a new way to view things, she would offer him a thousand and shape his ideas into brilliant plans in mere seconds.

Harry staggered onto the landing, his left hand rubbing his right shoulder. His arm hurt more now than when Hagrid and he had originally crashed the flying motor cycle. At least they'd made it through the ordeal alive. It was more than what Hedwig had…

But the pain did nothing to cloud the nightmare he'd just endured. How badly he longed for her. To simply forget everything he'd been tasked to do. Her touch alone could make everything right, could make the horrors he lived in his nightmares fade to wisps of dreamy fog regardless if Voldemort committing such acts.

"Hermione." He whispered her name. It left a strong and fiery warmth in his body, his lips savoring every syllable. An amulet to keep him sane.

Harry lowered himself onto the top stair, his feet a few steps down. He looked down into the darkness of the usual lively burrow, his side and head resting against the landing wall. Nothing stirred. What he wouldn't give for someone to join him. Better yet, to have Hermione sitting beside him.

The beautiful Gryffindor hadn't left his mind since he'd first arrived hours before. Just when he'd been sure he would die, that Voldemort had won, he'd found himself in her embrace. His heart had leapt and even managed a few back flips. His hands had touched her hair, what he imagined a cloud might feel like. Her scent held just a hint of floral aroma; pronounced, but nothing overpowering.

A heavy sigh escaped Harry's lips. He could admire her from afar, but that was all. Ron would never forgive him if he tried to get close to Hermione. His best mate may begrudgingly allow Ginny, but for Hermione, he would kill. Harry could not blame him.

He had been so sure Ginny was the one. He'd been so jealous the previous year whenever someone else had gotten close to her. He'd enjoyed her kiss more than he'd thought he would. Ginny's kiss was nothing compared to Hermione's touch. He could only imagine how he would feel kissing her.

Begging. Sobbing. A rush of darkness. A loud scream. Harry shook his head, trying to rid himself of the thoughts. The assaults that at first seemed to only break down his mental state evolved into physical sensations he could hardly take anymore.

 _Why does it have to be this way?_

Harry allowed himself to dream of how wonderful his life could have been if Voldemort simply hadn't existed. His parents would still be alive, as would be Sirius, and Dumbledore. His parents would have raised him with love. Perhaps he would have tried harder in school. The Wizarding world would not be nearly as dangerous as it was. His life could have been perfect.

But, Voldemort did exist, and none of these things would ever change. The most Harry could hope for was to defeat the Dark wizard and have a better future - whatever that meant. Surely, Hermione would marry Ron and he would have to watch. He would have to pretend that he was all right with the arrangement, pretend to be excited for his best mate when what he really wanted was to leave Ron tied to a tree somewhere so he could run off with his bribe-to-be. He would probably end up with Ginny, the girl more a sister than anything else.

"I thought I heard someone out here."

Harry's eyes popped open and he turned his head. His vision had adjusted enough so he could see Hermione standing behind him in a long nightgown. Somehow, she made even that simple piece of clothing look elegant. She lowered herself down beside him, her gentle, flowery scent filling the small space between them.

"Couldn't sleep," Harry said. What else was there to say? He could not tell her he'd been pining over her while trying to block out his horrid feelings towards everything else. That she was the one bright light in his dark life. That she alone could bring a smile to his face; give him the will to fight, when he really wished everything would simply end.

"It's weird how quiet it is," She said. Hermione's hands rested upon the landing, her feet on the top step beside Harry's own. He dared to let his hand fall onto hers. His face caught fire, his stomach a whirlwind of dancing butterflies.

 _Just a friend comforting a friend,_ he told himself firmly.

"Harry…" Hermione leaned forward to get a better look at him. A necklace slipped out from beneath her nightgown, a small silver chain with a shooting star charm hanging from it.

"That's nice," Harry, mumbled trying to get his breathing to stop coming in quick, uncontrolled, spurts.

"This necklace?" Hermione seemed caught off guard and touched the charm. "Ron gave it to me for my birthday. It's made of zinc."

Harry could have gotten her a silver necklace with a diamond charm. Instead, he'd bought her a book. It had seemed like such a great gift at the time, and he hadn't been able to leave the Dursleys, so going to Diagon Alley or anywhere else had been out of the question.

 _Buying her jewelry would have only complicated things,_ he reminded himself.

"It's nice." Harry snatched his hand off hers and turned his head back to the dim staircase, aware that if he didn't he would no longer be able to control himself.

"I liked the book you gave me," Hermione said. "It was really interesting."

"Sure it was." Harry's words were harsh and he wish he could take them back. It wasn't Hermione's fault she'd fallen for his best mate. Ron most definitely wouldn't have the problem of being famous attached to him for his whole life. And, Ron would most likely be alive at the end of their journey.

"Harry."

He turned again at the soft sound of her voice, a sad whisper, only to find himself pushed against the wall. It was impossible to put any more distance between them unless Hermione moved and she was - only it was closer to him.

"Hermione..." Harry's words died. They were inches from each other. She couldn't be doing this. What about Ron? What about his feeble relationship with Ginny? It was true that they weren't actually a couple, but surely Hermione knew this was wrong. Ron, Ginny - even Mrs. Weasley would never forgive them. Harry would lose his best friend and the only woman he could remember being like a mother to him.

And yet they remained inches apart, Hermione waiting for him. She was going to let him decide whether or not they would be cast out of the Weasleys' good graces.

Soft, but firm lips covered Harry's own then. So much for _his_ choice.

Harry found his hand falling onto Hermione's lower back, the other upon her left thigh as he leaned in closer, their kiss intensifying. It was magnificent, perfect, amazing, and in the back of his mind, he knew, so very wrong. But, Harry realized he didn't care. He kissed Hermione again, this time his tongue licking her bottom lip. He felt invincible. His whole body was on fire, primed to fight Voldemort, to win, so he could spend the rest of his life with Hermione.

They slowly broke apart. Hermione laughed and Harry found himself joining her.

"They're going to kill us," he said. He moved his hand off her thigh and back to his side. He'd betrayed his friend and yet he couldn't find it in himself to worry about the guilt.

"They can't control our lives, Harry. We're allowed to fall in love with whoever we want."

The words were so simple, so straightforward. Of course, they were allowed, but that didn't make it quite right.

"Love." Harry repeated the word, testing it out. Yes, he could see his feelings as being love. He was willing to sacrifice himself for Hermione if it came to that. He would do anything she wanted, save for leaving Voldemort alive. He knew in his heart that Hermione would never ask such a thing of him. He wanted to shower her with gifts, to spend every waking second he could with her. He wanted to just hold her, to let her presence drive away all the darkness that seemed to be a part of his very being.

"Yes, love," Hermione, said her hand finding his. "Am I wrong?"

"No," he said. "No." Then, slower this time: "I just don't know if it's a good idea. I might not live through this...," he said choosing his words carefully. Only Ron knew what they would be doing once the wedding was over.

"I'll keep you alive," Hermione said, squeezing his hand tightly.

Harry's cheeks warmed. He believed her.

"To our future," he whispered his eyes looking down the stairs once more. With no light, the staircase looked like an endless dark tunnel. Almost a replica of how he saw his life.

And yet…

"To our future," Hermione echoed.

He glanced at Hermione. Even through the darkness, he could see her perfectly.


	8. So what Happens Next?

Written for QLFC: Season 5, Round 9

Position: Chaser 2

Position Prompt: Broom: Write about a witch or wizard gaining freedom.

Optional Prompts:

(colour) lime green

(object) gumboot

(word) slate

Betas: I Am the Color of Boom, Silently-at-night, DinoDina, AelysAlthea

Word Count: 2050 (word)

NOTE: MINOR AU.

Warning: Mild Shonen ai Draco/Harry

Title: So what Happens Next?

The wizard taking the photos gave a quick whip of his wand. The camera moved to Draco's other side.

 _Flash._

Draco stared forward; no smiling for these pictures.

 _Flash. Flash._

With each picture taken, the dreary room would light up briefly, only to fade back to dim hopelessness—a reminder to all who had to endure the process that things were not going to be okay.

 _Just focus. It's not like anyone's coming to save me._ _My parents are already locked up and the Dark Lord's gone._ At least there was that.

Draco turned as he was told until every angle of his body was photographed.

Then Draco was walking into the next room, an Auror watching his every move. A short witch with dark a look on her face like she'd just inhaled something awful took his clothes and dropped them into a black cloth bag before they forced him to stand near a white wall. Draco didn't care. His clothes were ripped and covered in blood; he didn't want them back.

Healers looked him over as they muttered comments between themselves, their charmed quills taking notes on floating parchment. None of them seemed to care about the two nasty gashes on his legs—Draco had been taken before he could receive any healing.

More photographs.

"Hands out," a wizard twice Draco's age and a head taller demanded of him, voice absent of warmth. He pulled his wand out, tapping each of Draco's hands once. It was the first time Draco had gotten a good look at them. They were scratched up and had dirt on them, a smudge of someone's blood on his thumb; he didn't know whose.

Both hands went numb for a moment, a blue light slowly moving from his wrist to his fingertips. When the light faded, it was as though nothing had happened.

Draco was handed a plain blue shirt and matching pair of trousers. He pulled them on, every witch and wizard in the room watching. The anti-magic cuffs were replaced around his wrists. It seemed they didn't trust him even though they'd confiscated his wand.

The whispers started almost immediately. Draco couldn't hear most of them, but then, he didn't need to. He had a good idea what they were saying: the sneers, the disgust. They acted as if he'd had some kind of choice in joining the Dark Lord's cause.

 _If they'd been in my position…._

Another Auror came and led him down a long sterile hallway. Draco noted the man's uniform: lime-green with black gumboots. He made a face. Even in his prison outfit, Draco managed to have more class and style.

The vinyl floor held a hint of yellow to it, its age seeming to defeat even the strongest of cleaning spells. Thick glass windows stood on each side of the hall looking into a long line of different rooms, most of them dark and empty. The lighting gave the hall almost a dreamlike fog quality as they walked on.

The Auror stopped Draco at a door and unlocked it with his wand. He motioned for him to enter first.

Without giving the man a look, Draco did so. The lights flickered to life, illuminating a drab room with only two chairs and a table inside. The door slammed shut behind him and Draco let out a long sigh. To think that this was now his life.

Muttering a curse, he walked over to one of the chairs and slid down into it. How was he supposed to explain everything? He was never supposed to be caught, but then, when had his life ever worked out properly? He wouldn't be in this situation if good things happened to him.

 _But the Dark Lord is gone,_ he reminded himself. There would be no more killing, no more hurting Mudbloods, and no more watching eyes to make sure he was acting as the proper pureblood. For the first time in his life, Draco was free of all of that. If the Aurors or the Ministry itself even thought for a moment he was sad to be sitting in an isolated room away from the rest of the world, or because the Dark Lord was dead, they were mad.

No, Draco had nothing to be proud of, and the one love of his life would never forgive him for the horrors he'd allowed to happen. He could have run. If only he hadn't been such a coward. He could have joined Dumbledore as the headmaster had pleaded him to do. He could have joined Harry…

Draco felt his face flush. Why hadn't he just trusted Harry? They'd grown so close their fifth year and then everything had come crashing down his sixth. If Draco had simply trusted his instincts or even just his heart, he wouldn't be heading for Azkaban.

 _You made your own choices. Harry's alive. Nothing else matters._

He closed his eyes, grateful for that at least. Even when his parents had been at their most desperate, he'd lied about Harry's identity. He could not turn Harry over to You-Know-Who. Even with all the fear he had felt. It was the one thing he could say he'd done right during the entire wizarding war; perhaps his life.

Now he would probably spend most of his life in Azkaban, atoning for what he'd done.

 _But Harry's alive,_ he reminded himself once again. His eyes opened, and a smile crept across his face. If he hadn't been a coward and stayed with his family, he would not have been there to save Harry at Malfoy Manor. Perhaps not at Hogwarts, either.

Draco decided he had nothing to be sorry for.

He sat up tall, the fingers of his left hand drumming on the table, his right arm hanging over the chair's back, causing it to throb. He chose to ignore it. Despite everything else he'd done, he had saved the person he cared most about. He had defied You-Know-Who, something most purebloods were too scared to even think of.

The door slid open, and Draco made sure he appeared as bored as possible. He would not be pushed around in Azkaban. Supposed Dark Lord supporter or not, he was a Malfoy first and foremost. It was a name that had once demanded respect and would need to be built back up after the foolish choices his parents had made. He would do it, though. It would take time, but he would show the Wizarding community that the name Malfoy did not mean stupid or dark. _That_ would take a lot of time and energy.

"Stand up." The words were bitter.

Draco turned and regarded yet another new guard, eyes narrowed and ready to take on the interrogation that was about to begin. This one looked like someone had hexed him before he walked through the door.

He stood up, wondering why in the world they were moving him already. He was supposed to answer questions. Were they going to simply throw him into Azkaban without hearing his side of the story? Years of training kept his mask of calm. His heartbeat was another matter.

He was led back into the hallway and further down the hall. Draco trudged in a daze. Why? The other Death Eaters had been interviewed. Had something happened?

Draco stopped for a second, his throat tightening. Had Harry screwed up somehow? Was You-Know-Who still alive? He wrapped his fingers around his left forearm. There was no pain. Were the remaining Death Eaters at large causing a riot?

"Malfoy!"

Draco jumped, his eyes focusing on the guard. So much for a calm exterior.

"I deserve to tell my side of the story," Draco said. The look on the guard's face told Draco the guard didn't care if he died the most horrible death imaginable.

"Move." They began walking again. After a maze of halls and doors the guard finally stopped. "Stay." He gave Draco one last look of utter disgust and left him.

Draco did just that. He was in enough trouble. He hoped the guard wasn't leaving him unattended so the others being held could kill him before he even made it to Azkaban. Without his wand and with the anti-magic cuffs, he was useless.

The door to his side opened. Draco let out a breath when he saw it was another guard. This one he recognized vaguely. It was definitely an Auror. The wizard was skinny with no hair. He'd seen him guarding Harry at Diagon some time ago.

"This way," the Auror said, motioning to him and holding the door open. Stepping through the doorway, Draco hoped if he was going to be killed, that it would at least be quick. The door shut behind him, and he waited. For some reason, they had brought him back to the entrance.

"What's going on?" Draco asked. Even if he was a criminal, he deserved an explanation.

"DRACO!"

Draco managed to turn just as arms pulled him into a tight embrace. He knew this hug well.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked. His entire body was relaxing, and he didn't need that; he needed to be strong, or to at least look strong.

"They didn't tell you?" Harry shot a glare at the Auror standing by the door. The wizard merely shrugged. "I told them you were the only reason we were able to get out of Malfoy Manor and that you and your mother spared me so I could kill Voldemort at Hogwarts."

"She did?" Draco could feel his eyes widen. His mother had helped Harry escape?

"I'll explain later." Harry ran his hand through his hair, a half smile on his lips. Draco wished he could run his own hand through Harry's soft locks. " As of right now, I've gotten you pardoned, but they still want to talk to you later."

"Pardoned?" Draco's voice sounded weak, and he wanted to sit down. He'd been _pardoned_? Harry had saved him from going to Azkaban? Had given him a clean slate? Perhaps his mother too? Was that even possible after everything that he'd done?

"Come on, let's get out of here." Harry released him from the hug and grabbed his hand instead, holding it tight. "I'm glad you're okay," he whispered.

"Thanks to you," Draco said, still not believing any of it. There was no way this was happening. Harry saving him? Draco didn't deserve it even if he had saved Harry's life.

The Auror removed the cuffs.

They were out the doors of the Auror office and then the Ministry building itself. Draco's feet moved and Harry was talking, but he wasn't registering half of it. He was free. Free of Voldemort, free of Azkaban. Harry had given him that freedom. He was holding his hand…

Draco's face started to burn. Could they be together again after everything that had happened? He'd never wanted anything so much in his life.

Stopping, Draco pulled Harry towards him. Harry looked at him, his eyebrow raised in question. It had been a few days since the battle. There were bags under Harry's eyes, and while he seemed to have been healed of any physical damage, the mental burden was still there. Haggard was the best word Draco could think of. And yet Harry had come directly to him instead of resting.

"Draco?"

Draco leaned forward, his free hand going to Harry's back. He gave a moment's pause to see if Harry wanted to pull away or give any other indication that he should stop. Harry watched, looking amused, and Draco brought their lips together. He could hardly believe it; Harry was still letting him kiss him.

"I need to get you out of jail more often," Harry laughed when they'd separated.

"I wasn't sure…after everything…"

"I just stopped you from going to Azkaban, and we're in public holding hands," Harry said. He raised their clasped hands as if to prove his point, and Draco found himself laughing. How had his luck changed so drastically? None of this seemed real to him anymore.

"Harry…thank you." There was so much more Draco wanted to say, so much he wanted to do.

"Thank me after we get back home and you've showered," Harry said, and winked at him.

Smiling, Draco followed.


End file.
